


It Means Something

by thealpacalypse



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Platonic Relationships, Queerplatonic Relationships, aromantic!Sherlock Holmes, non romantic Valentine's Day, set in late S1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 05:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3344753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealpacalypse/pseuds/thealpacalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joan has a particularly weird Valentine's Day morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Means Something

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks,
> 
> so last year I had this project for non romantic Valentine's fics (because sometimes that's what my a-spectrum heart craves) and this is the first one I wrote. Maybe I'll add more of these soon.
> 
> (Sadly, this is not beta'd, so sorry for any mistakes.)
> 
> Enjoy!

When Joan wakes up to the sound of Sherlock singing in the kitchen, she knows something isn't right. She struggles to get a clear head and shoves away the covers, rubbing her eyes while standing up and toddling into the kitchen.

Sherlock is making breakfast. And not just a simple breakfast, but a huge British one, with baked beans and sausages and bacon and muffins and jam and toast and even fresh grapes and orange juice. Yes, this isn't an illusion or a hallucination, Sherlock Holmes is wearing an apron, standing with his back to Joan, making scrambled eggs and _singing_.

 

Joan is confused. “Sherlock, what are you doing?” Sherlock doesn't answer, still humming an upbeat Beatles song, tapping his right foot and even swaying his hips a bit. Only then Joan realises that Sherlock is wearing earplugs. She carefully comes closer and taps Sherlock's shoulder.

 

He turns around jauntily and Joan discovers immediately that he is smiling, brightly and without the slightest hint of mischief or sarcasm, in a way he so rarely does. “Isn't it a wonderful day, Watson?” he asks cheerily, putting away his earplugs. Joan raises both eyebrows in surprise and just repeats: “What are you doing?”

 

Sherlock makes a sweeping gesture in the vague direction of the table and the stove before he answers: “Observe, Watson! It's called breakfast. Sit down.” Joan actually does what he says, but still can't let go. “Has this something to do with the fact that today is February fourteenth?” Joan prays for a second that the breakfast and Valentine's Day are totally unrelated, because otherwise this conversation might go from confusing to very awkward and uncomfortable very quickly. Because this is Sherlock and if he's making her this breakfast because it's Valentine's, then that's a sort of display of affection of him that Joan can't handle, because it's a way too normal thing to do for someone on Valentine's Day, so it's particularly abnormal for Sherlock. And Joan fears that if Sherlock does abnormal things like that, it _means_ something. And she definitely couldn't handle Sherlock doing things like these for her that _mean_ something.

 

But of course this is Sherlock and he always picks the hard way and so he says: “It has everything to do with this particular date.” And with this he puts one half of the scrambled eggs on the plate in front of Joan, puts the rest of it on his own plate, sits down and says: “Well, dig in, the bacon's best when it's still warm.”

 

It’s weirding Joan out, honestly. The good mood, the cheery tone, this breakfast... Joan's almost too afraid to comment on it, but the suspense drives her crazy, so she mumbles: “I've never took you to be a Valentine's Day person.” Sherlock looks up from his breakfast, still chewing, and then replies: “Oh no, I am not, certainly not. The holiday itself is a horrible mixture of marketing ploy, oppression of sexual and romantic deviance and cheap self-affirmation.” He takes a sip of his coffee, obviously to give Joan time to let this sink in or protest or something. Joan just waits for him to continue, and after a few moments of silence he does: “But think about it! The drama, the hurt feelings, the broken hearts! Jealousy, rejection, all this is the perfect cocktail for dozens of interesting cases! And also people are less careful today, more trusting; thieves, conmen, frauds and crooks will all take advantage of this. It's criminals' Christmas practically!”

 

Joan should have expected something like this. This is Sherlock. Sherlock doesn't do meaningful breakfasts, he solves crimes and is being clever and weird and Joan would never want an insight in Sherlock's brain regarding relationships and human contact and... this kind of stuff. So she's kind of relieved, but she also feels like rolling her eyes.

 

She doesn't though – she's too busy appreciating the wonderful breakfast. After most of the tension is gone and she doesn't feel weird anymore (at least just as weird as she usually does around Sherlock, not that kind of Sherlock-might-be-wooing-me-weird) she really enjoys all the good things Sherlock has made. They eat mostly without talking, Joan is reading the newspaper and Sherlock has started humming the Beatles song again, and it's nice. It's honestly and genuinely nice. Come to think of it, Joan guesses no one has ever done something so exceptionally nice for her on a Valentine's Day. Sure, other guys have made breakfast or dinner for her, but it's different for Sherlock. He doesn't normally do this kind of things for other people, and even though he does it for strange reasons, it means something to Joan.

 

Sherlock is already up to check his mails while Joan still finishes her breakfast, and when she sips the rest of her coffee, he jumps up and shouts: “Get up, Watson, and get dressed! We can actually pick between four brilliant cases, and to mark the occasion, you can choose!”

 

Then he bounces around the flat like an excited child on a field trip while Joan picks a case where a husband has been strangled, seemingly by his furious wife, who found out that her husband didn't have one, but even two affairs. Sherlock just scoffs at this assumption of the police and explains to Joan that he thinks the mob is somewhere involved in this case. He doesn't actually say it, but Joan can see that he is very happy with the case Joan has picked.

 

Joan gets dressed and tidies the kitchen while she waits for Sherlock to come down so they can go and inspect the crime scene, but when Sherlock comes down the stairs, Joan tenses up a little again: He carries something that is wrapped in paper, the emblem of a florist printed on the front.

_Oh no._

If he has actually bought her a flower for Valentine's Day, neither he nor Joan can pretend that this doesn't mean anything. “What...” Joan starts, but isn't sure if she really wants to ask. Actually she doesn't want to ask, because she's sure she doesn't want to hear the answer. Sherlock stops in front of her, gives her the wrapped thing and says in a rather serious tone: “I just wanted to give you this before we go.”

 

Joan's hands tremble just a tiny bit when she tears away the paper and finds a not very pretty plant inside, more green than white, more weed than flower. “Ugh,” she grunts when she tries to smell it. It stinks. “Uhh... thank you,” she stammers and doesn't have a clue what to think about this whole thing. Sherlock looks way too proud with himself. “Conium maculatum”, he explains, but it sounds like he thinks she should already know. It must look weird, the way Joan holds the flower as far away from herself as possible, but Sherlock doesn't seem to notice, or he decides to ignore. He continues: “known popularly as hemlock. One of the most poisonous plants to exist.” Now Joan understands – she likes those moments when she's finally in on Sherlock's secret jokes, so she hurries to say: “Right, it was used to poison condemned prisoners in ancient Greece. Socrates died like this.”

 

Sherlock gives her one of these smiles that show her he appreciates her knowledge and then goes on: “I thought this would be great for your next project, now you've finished the studies on knives, blades and slash wounds. This poison is a bit out of fashion, but that makes it even more important to be able to recognise it in the blood of victims. You can study the chemical structure of the poisons in this plant and the reactions of it. What do you think?”

 

Joan is pretty sure he's not asking her if she likes the flower, but instead if she thinks this is an acceptable project. But she can't be sure, so she just says: “Thank you.” Then she puts the flower away, turns to Sherlock again and asks him in all seriousness: “Why are you doing this?”

 

Now Sherlock seems confused. “I already told you, this is an exciting day with exciting cases-” “No,” she interrupts him, “why are you doing all this _for me_?” She hopes she won't regret this question, hopes it doesn't complicate things, hopes she finds the right words to respond to whatever Sherlock will say... but again he surprises her.

 

His face gets serious, but she can still see a hint of well hidden fondness in his eyes. “Because,” he explains simply, “even though we're not involved and I have no interest in changing this, you're still my better half.”

 

Joan stares at him. These moments of brutal honesty he sometimes has always scare her a bit, but perhaps less than they should by now. She smiles, insecurely at first, but warmer and brighter with every second. Then, with a grin she provokes him: “I bet I'm even your better three quarters.”

Sherlock seems to consider this for a few moments before he replies: “Neither in regard of body mass, nor in brain functionality or knowledge is this true.” But he smiles then, a very soft, almost intimate smile. “Could be true in connection with your sociality and your metaphorical heart.”

 

Then, as if those words mean nothing, he strolls past Joan and out of the door, shouting: “Come on! There's a mob case waiting for us!” And Joan's face lights up, because right now, this means everything, and she follows Sherlock into the cold February morning to do what they always do:

Solve cases.

Save lives.

Mean something to each other.


End file.
